


winter song

by orphan_account



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 10:08:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8441587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “december never felt so wrong because you’re not where you belong inside my arms”winter song // sara bareillesashlyn hates the cold. ali hates the cold without her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> a quick little one-shot because Christmas season is almost upon us.

It’s cold.

That’s an understatement. The bite in the air is the type that worms its way through layers of wool sweaters, harsh against the bare skin of Ali’s nose as she unlocks the door to her house. It was their house at one time, and the thought is as bitter as the cold as she shuffles into the foyer, stamping her feet heavily against the rug to knock off the stray snowflakes and frozen mud coating her shoes. 

Her nose is cold, her hands are cold, her bones are cold. It makes her feel old in some strange way as she strips off her gloves and her hat, tossing them into the bin at her left, digging her left toes into the heel of her right boot and wiggling her foot free. She repeats the action, unzips her coat and hangs it in the closet, tugging at the waistline so that the fabric lays flat. 

It dries easiest that way. She used to tell Ashlyn that, but the woman was like a puppy dog when she finally made it into the warmth of the house after long minutes spent in the blistering Virginia cold. She’d leave her coat hanging on the back of a living room chair, gloves tossed on the kitchen counter, boots kicked in the corner of the bedroom. There was always something of a mess in their house when it snowed, or at least there used to be. Back when it was _their_ house.

Ali grabs her pot of coffee, splashing a mug full of the rich brew and setting it in the microwave for two minutes so that the liquid will turn scalding. She shuffles over to the thermostat, ticks it up two degrees, then leans against the wall, palms flat against the light blue paint that Ashlyn had smeared all over her face when they first decorated this room.

She misses Ashlyn more in the cold. Part of her wishes that she’d gotten a dog back when Ashlyn had begged her, when they’d first moved to Virginia, hearts set on starting their forever together in this little one-bedroom charmer of a house. She could use something to come home to now, someone to greet her at the door and act as if she was the best damn thing to see. But no, that’s stupid, because God knows that Ashlyn would’ve taken the dog with her when she left for Orlando. Not out of selfishness, but for perfectly good reasons — Ashlyn is better with animals and it’s easier to walk a dog every day when life is a perpetual summer.

Ali just wants something. She holds her coffee close to her chest and settles down into the couch, no phone, no book, television shut off. She sits and she stares and she sips at her drink.

This might be defined as depression if she were the type to do definitions. She’s sure that if she told Ashlyn about these hour-long couch sessions, she’d be in for a long call from Jamie, talking about how communication and honesty is key, that if she just centers herself in things that make her happy everything will find a way to be okay.

But it’s a week into December and nothing is right. The Olympics, the NWSL, Ashlyn half a country away. She feels as if her sight is set at an angle, as if she can’t see quite right. She hasn’t bought a tree, hasn’t unearthed a single Christmas decoration from the boxes stowed in the spare closet. She leaves the walls bare because it fits the way she feels.

This isn’t right. Ali’s favorite holiday is Christmas — she typically spends the night of Thanksgiving sated with turkey and sprawled on the floor, organizing Christmas decorations so that they’ll be easy to lay out the next morning. Despite her love for designer brands, Black Friday shopping is limited for a single purchase, a fat, towering tree that she’ll laden with tinsel and lights and way too many ornaments. She bakes an excess of cookies and finds new ways to make pumpkin bread and apple pie from scratch, she obsesses over making the perfect playlist of Christmas oldies and pop classics to keep the whole house festive. Ashlyn spikes her cocoa with peppermint schnapps and they make love on the sofa with the fire crackling and the lights of the tree glowing. 

Actually, the spiked drink isn’t a bad idea. She hasn’t bought schnapps for the last year, so Ali pours herself a stiff bourbon, setting it on the table next to the couch and finally flicking on the TV. She settles on ABC Family, because at least she can still pretend to enjoy a good Christmas movie. Sinking deep into the cushions, Ali takes a long swallow, closes her eyes and pulls a thick blanket tight around her. She thinks about calling Ashlyn for a second, but she knows that her girlfriend is most likely still in her workout, and she hates how much she's been calling first lately. She keeps her eyes shut instead, and without meaning to falls completely asleep.

It takes her phone ringing twice to shake Ali from her stupor. She scrambles quickly to her feet and grabs at the phone.

"Baby." Ashlyn's voice sounds a little pained and a little out of breath, and for a moment Ali's stomach drops.

"Ash, are you okay?" She picks up her coffee, which has gone cold, carrying it towards the kitchen. "Talk to me?"

"No, I'm not okay." There's a moment when Ashlyn is muffled. "—cold, it's so fucking cold here and I really can't stand it."

"What?" Ali freezes, her hand tight on her mug.

"Open the goddamn front door, Krieger, I'm freezing out here." Ashlyn's voice is thick with amusement and it's all Ali can do to keep from screaming. She does the second-best thing, dropping her phone without even hanging up and sprinting to the front door. A blast of cold air slaps her as she drags the door open, but she doesn't care because it brings Ashlyn with it, with her arms full of presents that she drops immediately to pick Ali up instead.

Ashlyn smells like vanilla and her lips taste like cherry chapstick and her hands are under Ali's sweater in about half a second because _God_ it's been far too long for both of them. She moans a short "hey there" under her breath as Ashlyn backs her into the wall, pulling away only when a gust of wind reminds them both that the door is still open.

"Thank God you're here to warm me up," she murmurs, and Ali laughs because it's so cheesy and so Ashlyn that it makes her heart ache. Ashlyn shoves the door shut and she's walking back to kiss the living hell out of Ali when she pauses, eyes scanning the room.

"Ali..." Her voice trails off, and she's suddenly breezing past to walk through the kitchen, then the living room, even poking her head into the bedroom before she returns, standing in front of the her girlfriend with both arms crossed. "Where did you put Christmas?"

"I—" Ali glances around, her palms facing out in a stance of defeat, shoulders twitching into a shrug. "I didn't put anything up this year."

"I can see that, baby." Ashlyn steps up to her, placing both hands on Ali's shoulders and watching her with measured eyes. "Talk to me?"

"Couch?" They shuffle their way into a sitting position, and Ashlyn wraps one arm firmly around Ali's shoulders, tugging her into her chest.

"I just couldn't bring myself to do it this year." Ali's already sniffling and she would feel pathetic if Ashlyn's hand in her hair wasn't so damn soothing and understanding in the same beat. "I'm just so empty, this house is so empty without you. I hate it here."

"Al, you're home." Ashlyn's voice is hushed. "Virginia is home, this is where you've been trying to be for so long."

Ali shifted, turning her head to look at Ashlyn, soaking in every detail of her face, her worried eyes, her hair short and dark and still so _new_ to Ali. 

"You know damn well that you've been the only home for me for awhile now," Ali mutters, and she follows her gruff tone with a quick kiss to one of Ashlyn's biceps, light enough to ease the tension.

"Ali, I—" She chokes on her question for a second. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I want to go home with you," Ali says, and her voice is firm. "I'll go wherever you go. I'm sick of waiting."

They sit in silence for a moment, Ashlyn's fingers mindlessly playing with the ends of Ali's hair. She glances down at Ali, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head.

"You love D.C." Her voice is quiet and hopeful and there's absolutely no strength behind her argument, no might behind her words. "You love the winter here, the snow, the Christmas lights—"

"I don't love any of it without you," Ali says and her lips cut off any chance that Ashlyn would have to argue. And really it was inevitable, this moment, this quiet breaking point, as Ali climbs into her lap and settles the argument by fitting their mouths together perfectly. Because Ashlyn has always been the end of Ali's road, and she's spent a month or so trying to fill a house that couldn't be home without her.

That night, they hang ornaments on a newly-cut tree. Ashlyn makes cocoa and Ali makes cookies, and the stereo plays music just loudly enough to dance to.

They're waltzing in the kitchen in wool socks, Ali in Ashlyn's sweater, her hand on her shoulder and her head resting on her chest, just over her heart. They aren't talking, because they don't always need words anymore, quiet touches and soft glances speaking worlds. In the background Sinatra is crooning softly — "I'll Be Home For Christmas", Ali's favorite Christmas song — and Ashlyn's lips are mouthing the words lightly.

"This is what you want?" Ashlyn asks, and Ali looks up at her like she's just asked the stupidest thing in the world and like she loves her more than anything because of it.

"I don't want anything besides you," she murmurs.

And maybe it's the lights, or the smell of cookies baking in the oven, or the cheesy carols that Ashlyn keeps picking. But for the first time in months, Ali has to admit, it finally feels like home.


End file.
